


You Belong With Me

by destielonfire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Crush at First Sight, Engineer Dean, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Pining, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Shy Dean, Subways, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielonfire/pseuds/destielonfire
Summary: Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Taylor Swift. Her various hits started blaring inside his head on repeat at random times, and it was slowly driving him insane. 
He knew whose fault it was, though. Knew exactly whom to blame for his descent into insanity by earworm.
Sex Hair Guy on the subway. Damn him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angvlicmish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angvlicmish/gifts).



> Written for [angvlicmish's](http://angvlicmish.tumblr.com/) September writing challenge, for which the prompt was Taylor Swift. So I didn't make the deadline, and I went over the maximum word count of 3k, but oh well.  
> I'd like to thank [Shannon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannon_Kind/pseuds/Shannon_Kind) for being such a wonderful beta.

Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Taylor Swift. Her various hits started blaring inside his head on repeat at random times, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He knew whose fault it was, though. Knew exactly whom to blame for his descent into insanity by earworm.

Sex Hair Guy on the subway. Damn him.

* * *

He’d first seen the guy two months ago on his daily commute to work, on the same A line he’d been taking for the last five years working as an engineer at Sandover Corp. After about the third time he’d noticed the guy, he started looking for him on the platform, trying to figure out what route he took. The guy was a creature of habit: as far as Dean could tell, he always got the 8.02 AM train at 125th St, and remained until after Dean had to get off at 14th St. This left Dean with fifteen glorious minutes to sneak glances at the object of his quickly growing obsession. It also made Dean more punctual than he’d ever been in his entire life, as he knew that if he was even a few minutes late or early, he would not be on the same train as him. It would rob him of the chance to see the guy that day, because for some reason Dean never saw him in the evening on his commute back home.

The guy always wore the same basic outfit: a suit and tie that managed to look artfully rumpled and a tan trench coat. The ensemble would surely look pretty ridiculous on anyone else, but damn it if he didn’t manage to pull it off, even though he did kind of look like a tax accountant. Maybe he was one. Dean figured it was the hair. He was one of those guys who had absolutely perfected the “rolled out of bed after a night of truly spectacular sex” look. Couple that with a pair of stunning blue eyes, and Dean was pretty much done for from the get-go.

Dean tried to find ways to get closer to him without being noticed and called out as the creep he was. He started looking forward to busier days on the subways, when people would have to cram together like sardines in a can. He used to hate those days, but now it was a way for him to get close to the guy without being suspected of anything. He’d already figured out the guy favoured the next to last subway car – likely because it stopped near the exit he would eventually need to take. So he made sure to always be waiting in that car when they came up to the guy’s stop.

The first few times, the guy unfortunately picked a different door to enter, and Dean wasn’t able to make his way through the dense crowd without drawing too much attention to himself. The Monday of the third week, however…the guy ended up standing right before him, crushed between Dean, who was pressed against the doors on the opposite end of the platform, and a businessman who was talking loudly on his phone and making hand gestures despite the lack of space.

The gesticulating man elbowed the guy even further into Dean’s personal space, putting pretty much his entire upper body into direct contact with Dean, who was trying very hard not to get aroused. The guy would surely feel his…excitement and then he’d be forever branded as “that perv on the train”. So he forced himself to think of anything else than the enticing man pressed up against him: Alastair from R&D who always leered at him in a super creepy way, or Janet from accounting who for some reason always looked at him like Dean had tortured and killed one of her many cats.

Thankfully it worked, and Dean was able to calm down enough to actually enjoy the closeness. Dean’s nose was close enough to the nape of the guy’s neck to smell him, and he couldn’t resist taking a surreptitious sniff. The guy smelled like freshly ground coffee beans mixed with a hint of cinnamon and other spices that reminded Dean of autumn. It was intoxicating, and Dean had to use all his self-restraint to keep a soft moan from spilling from his lips, especially when – purely by accident – his fingers brushed against the guy’s.

Dean didn’t really remember how he managed to get to the office that day.

Unfortunately, he was never able to stand quite that close to the guy again, always thwarted at the last second by another person shoving their way between them. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

He also started noticing different things about the guy: the way he always rubbed his eyes tiredly at least once – a clear sign that he didn’t get enough sleep on a regular base. The way he tended to absently fiddle with the hem of his trench coat. The way his eyes tracked the words on the newspaper he sometimes read on less busy days when there was enough space to allow it.

But then, three weeks ago, something changed. Dean immediately noticed it as soon as the guy boarded the subway car. In his ears were bright blue earbuds that were connected to what looked like an iPod. Huh, that was new. He really seemed into whatever he was listening to, because he was smiling faintly and actually started mouthing the lyrics after a few minutes. It was subtle, and Dean doubted that anyone but him would’ve noticed; but it was inevitable he _would,_ seeing as his eyes were magnetically drawn to those lips more often than not.

It was incredibly endearing, and it made Dean realize that whatever this was, it had now progressed further than simple physical attraction; it had blossomed into a full-blown crush.

And wasn’t that pathetic? Having a crush on someone he hadn’t talked to once. He hadn’t even heard the guy’s voice yet. He imagined what it would sound like, sometimes, when he was in the shower in the morning.

Those were the mornings he had to rush to make sure he caught the right train.

The guy had been listening faithfully to his iPod every day since then, and Dean was content to just watch him enjoy his music, even though he was curious about what kind of music he liked. Did he, like Dean, have a preference for classic rock? Or maybe classical music? He looked like the type. Dean was hoping he’d find a way to get close to the guy again, not just for the joy of the physical closeness, but also because maybe he’d be able to hear some music drift from the earbuds. He was hungry for the insight into his personality. He wanted to know what made him tick - made him smile. He wanted to _know_ him. But it was an idle hope.

Until last Friday, when everything changed.

* * *

If Dean was a religious man, he would’ve thought this a sign from God that it was meant to be. As it was, he couldn’t help but send up a silent thank you to fate – wherever she may be – for the opportunity he’d been presented with.

That day had started off just like any other Friday, with the guy boarding the same subway car he always did, bobbing his head to the beat of the music coming from his iPod. It wasn’t that busy today, so Dean had a blissfully uninterrupted view of the guy.

But then a whole class of schoolchildren got on at the next stop.

All of the sudden, the passengers were all crushed together, and the noise rose to a near unbearable level. Dean noticed the guy hastily ripping his earbuds from his ears and stuffing the iPod in one of the pockets on his trench coat, scowling a bit at the interruption and noise. At the next stop, he got off the train – an unprecedented thing, seeing as he always stayed on after 14th St. Maybe he wanted to catch the next train, which was presumably not infested with screaming children. Or maybe he just wanted to switch cars.

Whatever the reason, he was gone, and Dean couldn’t help but stare forlornly at the spot he’d been occupying. It was then that he noticed the flash of light blue. He made his way through the sea of children until he reached the spot. There, lying on the ground miraculously unscathed, was the guy’s iPod. Dean picked it up quickly and stuffed it in his pocket. An excited shiver went through his body at the thought of examining it later. This was it. This was his way in.

He somehow managed to contain himself until he reached the safety and privacy of his office. After firmly shutting the door, he whipped out the iPod and looked at the track that had been playing. The one that the guy had been nodding his head to.

It was Shake It Off by Taylor Swift.

Dean was torn. On the one hand – it was Taylor Swift. About as far away from AC/DC as you could get, genre-wise. On the other hand – and Dean would _never_ admit this to anyone even under pain of torture because Sammy would have a field day with it – he kind of liked this particular song. It was catchy and had a decent beat.

Curious to see what the guy listened to the most, he went through the “most played” list. He didn’t have a lot of albums on there yet. Some classical music ( _hah, called it!_ ), more Taylor Swift, Etta James, Otis Redding, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and other jazz, blues and soul icons. The guy may not be into the heavier stuff, but he knew and appreciated his classics, and Dean could get behind that.

He listened to the iPod on shuffle for the whole day. By the time he went to bed that night, he’d come up with a plan to make contact. It was simple: wait until the guy boarded the train as usual, go up to him, introduce himself, give him his iPod back, and ask him out on a date. Simple. Fool proof. And if fate deigned to be kind to Dean one more time, the guy would be 1) into guys, that’s kind of a prerequisite, and 2) say yes to Dean.

He fell asleep to the smooth voice of Ray Charles singing about having Georgia on his mind the whole day through.

* * *

That weekend, he spent a few hours listening to the music on the iPod. The most played album – Taylor Swift’s 1989 – came up a few times, and the songs on it were so damned catchy that by the time he went to bed on Sunday, he knew most of the lyrics by heart, and was seriously regretting not skipping the songs more often. He sincerely hoped he’d see the guy on Monday, because he needed to get his mind off Taylor Swift before he went mad.

* * *

The day had finally come, and Dean was nearly jumping out of his skin from the nerves. His palms were sweaty, and it was stressing him out even further. The guy had just boarded the train, looking a bit put out likely due to the loss of his beloved iPod. But Dean had the means to put the smile back on his face where it belonged. All he needed to do was walk up to him. He was going to do it. Any minute now. He just needed to straighten his jacket. And make sure his hair looked okay.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Dean drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was ready. He could do this. Showtime.

But fate had decided to be cruel today, and at that exact moment, his phone started ringing. Dean cursed internally – who the hell was calling him at this hour? He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the number. It was Josie from HR. Ugh, she was probably calling because he hadn’t filed his vacation time request sheet yet and he’d missed the deadline. Dean hung up on her. Her impatient ass could wait until he got into the office.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he looked up, his eyes immediately looking to find the guy again. He was…

…getting off the train?! What the hell? Dean quickly glanced at the stop they were at, and realized that he’d somehow ended up at Canal St., which was two whole stops away from his usual stop. So _this_ was where the guy always got off? Huh.

Wait, what was Dean doing? While he was standing there like a douchebag, the guy was going to get away! Dean finally sprang into action and flung himself through the closing doors, barely managing to keep himself from landing flat on his face on the platform. He quickly looked around. Shit, there were a lot of exits. If he didn’t find the guy right now, the chances of him being able to catch up to the guy were minimal.

Dean looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of that familiar tan trench coat. There! He spotted the guy turning the corner heading off to one of the exits. Dean had never powerwalked faster in his life, but he didn’t want to run and draw too much attention to himself. Luckily, the guy didn’t seem to be in that much of a hurry, and Dean caught up with him on the top of the stairs leading into the subway.

“Hey!” Dean raised his voice, hoping that he didn’t sound threatening or anything.

The guy turned around on instinct, and finally, for the first time, they locked eyes.

“Yes? Can I help you,” he said mildly. And _Christ_ Dean was woefully unprepared for that voice. It easily surpassed all his fantasies, sending a shiver down his spine and igniting a fire in his gut at the same time. The visceral reaction he had to that voice had left him silent and frozen in place for just a moment too long, causing the guy to frown.

_Come on Dean, get it together you idiot._

Wondering why his inner voice sounded an awful lot like his adoptive father Bobby, Dean managed to pull himself together and regain the power of speech.

“You, uh, you left your iPod on the train yesterday,” Dean said, grabbing the device out of his backpack and extending his arm so the guy could take it back. “I only noticed that you dropped it after the doors had closed, so I couldn’t give it to you then. But I just happened ( _yeah right Winchester smooth lie there_ ) to see you again today so I thought you might wanna have it back. I’m Dean, by the way.”

Why’d he have to go and chuck his name in there at the end? It was so obvious. Dean felt his face heat up, and he wanted to hide behind his hands. There is no way the guy hadn’t noticed the awkwardness pouring out of every pore.

But the guy just smiled and took the iPod, tucking it into his coat pocket. “Thank you,” he said, delighted, “I thought I’d lost it forever! That is so kind of you. My name is Castiel.” He extended his hand, and Dean took it, giving it a firm shake. The sudden contact sent a bolt of lightning through his body, and he couldn’t help but smile back. It could’ve been his imagination, but he thought that the handshake lasted a few beats longer than what would’ve been considered normal. And when they finally let go, he could _swear_ he felt the guy’s – Castiel, he finally knew his name now! -  thumb caress his hand for a millisecond.

“Nice to meet you. You’ve, uh, got good taste in music,” Dean said.

Castiel raised a single eyebrow. “You listened to it?”

Shit, he shouldn’t have said that. It probably came across as a gross invasion of his privacy. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry,” Dean admitted, dropping his shoulders in shame, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. He’d screwed it up. Again. This is why he couldn’t have nice things, he always found a way to –

“Dean.” The commanding tone was impossible to ignore, signalling the return of the by now familiar shiver down his spine and also making Dean raise his eyes back to Castiel’s. He was smiling gently.

“It’s alright, I understand why you would be tempted to listen. I’m not angry.”

Dean couldn’t help the small sigh of relief as some of the built-up tension left his body.

“I also see you’ve charged the battery, which was courteous of you.”

Dean shrugged. “It was the least I can do in exchange for listening to your tunes.”

Castiel inclined his head in agreement. “Indeed.” He hesitated a moment, then went on. “Dean, I would like to thank you for returning this to me. Many people would have just kept it, but you didn’t. So in exchange I thought I’d -”

“Oh, hey, listen, I really don’t want any money or anything. That’s not why I did it. I’m not that kinda guy. It was just the right thing to do.” Dean couldn’t bear the thought that Castiel might think he was angling for some kind of financial reward for being a decent human being.

“Actually,” Castiel said, “I didn’t think you were that kind of person, so that wasn’t what I was going to suggest. I was thinking – “ he leaned in, reducing the distance between them just a tiny bit. Dean’s heart started to pound in his chest. “- that I could take you out to dinner. If you are amenable to that suggestion.”

It took a few moments for Dean to process what he was hearing. All this time, he’d been tearing his hair out trying to find a way to approach Castiel and ask him out, only for Castiel to swoop in and _ask him out instead_. And he looked so calm, confident that Dean would accept the offer. If he wasn’t so far gone on the guy, he’d probably hate him for this, the smug bastard.

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll go out to dinner with you.” Dean made sure he didn’t stutter, and he deliberately threw in the nickname to shake things up a bit. It was in no way fair that Dean was the only nervous one here. He needed to recover the balance, damn it.

It worked, in the sense that Castiel looked surprised. He didn’t comment on it, but the warmth in his eyes told Dean how he felt about it. “You seemed pretty damn sure I was going to accept your offer,” Dean groused, still a little bit put out.

“Well, you have been – what’s the colloquialism – ‘checking me out’ these past few weeks.”

Okay, that was it. His heart couldn’t take it anymore. He was going to have a coronary, and his gravestone would read “death by blue-eyed angel with a wicked sense of humour”.

“How did you – I mean, I never, uh, I can explain.” Oh joy, the stuttering was back too!

“You aren’t as subtle as you think you are,” Castiel said, grinning. But there was no accusation in his eyes. “It’s okay Dean, it would be hypocritical of me to call you out on that, considering I’ve been looking at you, too.”

“You…have?” The shocks to his system just kept coming.

“I have,” Castiel continued. “I didn’t think I was that subtle about it either, but apparently I was wrong. I had been wondering how to approach you without…putting you off. The subway is not the ideal place for that.”

“Hah, you don’t need to tell me that,” Dean commiserated, “I was driving myself crazy trying to find a way to ask you out without giving you the impression I was some kind of a random creepy asshole.”

Castiel chuckled. “Well, it seems we are finally, thankfully, on the same page.” He pulled a business card and a pen from an inner pocket of his coat, and scribbled something on the back of the card.

“Here’s my cell phone number,” he said, handing the card to Dean. “It would make me very happy if you could give me a call tonight after 7 PM so we can discuss dinner arrangements. Do you like hamburgers?”

Jesus Christ could this guy get any more perfect?

“What kind of a question is _that_ ,” Dean responded vehemently, “who _doesn’t_ like hamburgers?”

“Who indeed?” There was that grin again. Dean just couldn’t get enough of it. Sadly, it disappeared a moment later when Castiel glanced at his watch.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, Dean, but I must go. I have a meeting I need to get to,” he said apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m already late for work, so I’d better run too,” Dean said, stowing the card safely into his wallet. “So – I’ll call you tonight, then?”

“Yes. I look forward to it. Have a good day, Dean,” Castiel said, and though they didn’t shake hands or touch in any way again, his voice sounded like a caress.

“You too, Cas,” Dean replied as he watched Castiel go.

He was forty-five minutes late to work that day, but for some reason he had no trouble at all shaking off Josie’s scolding.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you liked it, I would really appreciate it if you left a comment and/or kudo.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [destielonfire](http://destielonfire.tumblr.com).   
> Please come say hi!


End file.
